


Breaking

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, BDSM, Bondage, Denial, Dom/sub Undertones, Half-Sibling Incest, Jealousy, M/M, Power Dynamics, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 19:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15979085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Robb would be very easy to break.Of course, Jon would never do that. Because Robb trusts him. Jon cannot break his trust.





	Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> Kink generator provided: spanking + restraint.

Robb, Jon has often thought, would be very easy to break.

It's not a thought he likes having, but it's hard to avoid, especially right now, with Robb obediently placed on Jon's own bed, face down like Jon asked him, breeches around his ankles, wrists tied with rough hessian rope, the sort that leaves marks that he'll have to be careful to keep concealed tomorrow.

Robb trembles with nerves as he awaits whatever Jon will give him. There's a reason Jon asked him to lie face down. Many nights he can't bear to look in Robb's eye, to see the wide-eyed eagerness and the guilt and the need, and above all, the trust, the sheer faith that Jon, of all people, will never really hurt him. Even if he begs for it.

Jon, ever observant, can hear his own breath, shaky and loud, belying his own confused guilt that always accompanies his lust, his cock half-hard but still restrained by his own clothing. Gently, he traces his palm down the fine curve of Robb's arse, the skin still so white and pure, ideal for welts and bruises. Robb groans, squirms into his touch, his wrists chafing together beneath their bondage. Jon's cock and stomach lurch in perfect harmony. There is a terrible part of him that wants to go fetch a belt, or some such thing (maybe he could take it further, find a whip or a riding crop, something meant to hurt) – maybe he could really do some damage.

No. Jon wouldn't do such a thing.

Without even thinking about it, he digs his fingers into the flesh of Robb's behind, trying to ward off the nastiness of his own thoughts. Robb groans again at that, louder, and Jon is caught off-guard a moment but then he remembers, Robb likes that. He wouldn't come here if he didn't.

Which makes everything more difficult.

His first strike on Robb's bare arse is soft, gentle, more a pat than anything. A tease. Into the furs, he hears Robb chuckle, seemingly amused by the thought Jon still feels the need to be so gentle with him. It stirs all the feelings Jon wishes he could pretend he isn't having.

He hits harder.

Robb gasps when Jon first spanks him properly, the red mark left faint and barely-fading, but all too obvious to anyone looking. Jon pokes above Robb's mop of red curls to where his hands lie bound, wrists going just as red as he rubs them together, trying to relieve his discomfort, his arousal. Deep in Jon's heart, he knows that Robb must be hard as stone, and it would be so easy to look between his legs, to see that cock wet and aching, but he doesn't. If he doesn't he can pretend this isn't sick, perversity and incest of the worst kind, because after all, it's not as if he and Robb are fucking. It's not as if they've ever even made each other come, at least, not directly. All he's doing is spanking Robb like a naughty child. It's perfectly innocent for one brother to do that to another, right?

No, of course not. Jon can't possibly fool himself. But perhaps Robb can; he's not sure.

He strikes again, faster, on the other cheek. It makes Robb moan, just a little too loud – Jon hurriedly looks around, focusing on any sounds that might come from outside his locked door, such as footsteps. He sighs. When he returns his focus to Robb's quivering body, he finds the soft sound of whimpers ringing out from it, Robb's arse raised ever more wantonly in the air. He begs for it without ever saying a word.

Jon brings his hand down hard and Robb lets out a muffled curse into his bedsheets, his legs splaying wider at the blow. It's strange, Jon thinks. Robb usually appears so composed, so put together, so fierce and strong. Their father, after all, would raise none of his sons to be soft – not when he knows they must face the harsh northern winter. Therefore, Jon always finds it odd the way Robb seems to shrink before him. It's like behind a locked door he becomes someone else entirely, someone meek and submissive, someone ready and willing to be abused. Jon has never asked Robb why he consents to this, asks for it, even. Perhaps he's afraid of the answer.

The whys are always the questions Jon least wants to answer, and the frustration that he can't ward them away bubbles through his body until it comes out in his strikes, three quick blows to Robb's arse that make him moan and keen, his knees spreading until he's almost straddling Jon's bed, and Jon knows, he just knows, that Robb is trying to press his cock against the mattress, to grind himself toward climax. He knows, but he would never mention it.

(He also knows that his bed is maybe half the size of Robb's own, but he would never mention that either. He does not think the slight is deliberate. Robb's fine bed is earned by virtue of being the heir, and his own bed is just the same as it would be if he were a trueborn second son. He doesn't think his bed is smaller than Bran's, although maybe it should be bigger, since he's twice the age. Still, he swears he is not bitter enough to go and measure.)

Robb pants and moans like an animal, like a dog gone on heat, and Jon knows better than to think that Robb doesn't truly crave sex, whether or not he'll admit it; he'll reduce himself to being tied like a hog and spanked like a babe, because that's better than admitting what he is: a man, with lusts, lusts that might be awful, sinful, shameful – lusts that could bring the whole family into disrepute.

But Jon is no better, because there is a part of him that wants to give Robb what he craves so badly. To take what's been offered, to push himself inside the arse he's played with so many times, to fuck his brother like the heir to Winterfell's his own personal whore, and to make him scream, loud enough the whole castle will hear, and know between the bastard and the noble, which one owns the other.

Of course, Jon would never do that. Because Robb trusts him. Jon cannot break his trust.

Instead he forces his lust through his hand, spanking Robb faster and harder until that arse is turning purple, and Robb truly is just rubbing against the furs now, whining and moaning like he no longer cares what anyone might think of it, until Jon hears him cry out, watches his body shiver one more time, and then collapse, having found the completion he was looking for – or as close to it as he'll ever allow himself.

Once it's over, Jon doesn't bother keeping up the pretense (or perhaps he starts pretending – that this is all for Robb's sake, not his own). He lies down on the bed and gently, guides Robb onto his side, so Robb can give him that guileless smile, the one that says what they just did was good, was alright, and should not make them both sick with guilt.

Jon does his best to return it, although of course it is a lie. Wordlessly, he reaches for the pen-knife he left on the table, cutting through the ropes still holding Robb's wrists. He sees something dark flicker in Robb's bright blue eyes at the sight of bare metal, feels the shudder as it ghosts his skin. He ignores it. Nothing good lies beyond that look, only the sort of tempation that Jon is trying so hard to avoid, and pretend he is not indulging every time they do this.

Once Robb is released from his bonds he reaches out, calloused fingers soft on Jon's hips. Chastely, Jon kisses his brow. They curl together like newborn pups, babes of the same litter, like this too is innocent. Jon feels Robb bite his own lip as Jon's still-hard cock presses against his thigh, but Robb won't mention that. Jon will simply wait until Robb falls asleep, or at least pretends to, and then he will stroke himself until he comes not a foot away from his brother's body, and they will pretend that too is perfectly innocent.

Robb is soft and good and pure as he curls up against Jon's body, and he would be so easy to break.

Jon can only pray he won't.

 


End file.
